Mystic Tomato
by egochan
Summary: Ryuuji runs a brothel, Malik almost get his tongue cut off by Priest Seth, and there's the Mystic Tomato. What do you do when the most powerful people in Egypt want you dead?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh.

**Notes:** I've been working on this off and on for the past few testing weeks.

I dunno what the "Mystic Tomato" card is in Japanese because I couldn't find it. I just used the English card as a reference. I'm also taking some rules Takahashi-sama made about duel monsters and converting them to my own plot devices. If you know them, you'll see the changes.

I spent a quarter hour of my time dumbing this down; so don't complain about it to me.

Yeah, I know some of the characters in this fic weren't in Ancient Egypt, but who _cares_? ::glares irritably:: I want it this way. has completely deviated from the original plot

**Thanks:** Relinquished, for beta reading and trying so hard to fix my terrible spellings.

On the text: Relinquished and Ego-chan tried to make this long, long fic as American as possible--which is amazing since Relinquished is in Australia--so forgive us any seemingly misspelled words. (Fic was accidentally beta-ed partly in Australian English.) They are correct, in a sense. Don't worry, though, all the "realise" are "realize" and Ego skimmed ("skimmed" being the operating word: this fic is looong) to fix some more obvious things. Egro, the fic's spellings are now almost random. Yay! We'll just let it slide for this, eh?

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Mystic Tomato

The sun bore down relentlessly. As far as Malik cared, the heavens were irritated with the entire city, to the point of literally fuming. The gods had a fiery anger and everyone was politely permitted to share in the suffering for free. Malik knew exactly why: the sun was furious and pressing his face uncomfortably nearer the earth to locate a specific blasphemer. His godliness was trying to find Thief Bakura, who'd been in town for a few days, cooling his heels (as well as he could) at his nephew's. Malik wasn't sure about the unbearable convict, who bragged often that the only place he'd ever been caught was in people's memories of white hair darting off in the opposite direction. He was sceptical whether Thief Bakura was even his uncle.

"If you're my uncle, were you related to my mother or my father?"

"I dunno, one of the bastards. Probably both."

One thing Malik had decided about Thief Bakura was that he was offensive. That much was very clear. It didn't matter what you were telling him or how you felt towards the subject matter, because Thief Bakura would insult it all the same. He was a man without a country or any feasible religion. Though he had found it hard to believe at first, Malik knew his dear 'uncle' was one of those irrepressibly independent types with egos the length of five Niles, and who looked at society only long enough to happily point out what they didn't like. They used this disfavour as a backing for criminal acts and as justification to why they stole more power than they were initially allotted.

When Malik couldn't stand anymore complaining about government and wicked recollections of horrendous crimes, he simply left. He'd come back a while later, of course, since there weren't many places to go, and he'd bring food. If 'uncle' ever bothered to ask (he rarely did), Malik would tell him he'd been shopping. This would make the tanned and accomplished bandit rattle on smartly about how Malik shouldn't waste money on food when it was so easy to steal. He'd promise to get around to teaching his 'girly nephew' all the perfect methods of burglary. Strangely enough, the moments of explaining and tutoring where the only times Malik ever saw the man speak sincerely. Thief Bakura seemed very passionate about his occupation and almost eager to teach his 'nephew' when he could spare the time. He constantly encouraged Malik to take without asking, to act without permission, and don't take anyone too seriously. Whenever Malik asked for anything, he was refused because he'd presented a request.

"Malik-chan, do you _ask_ me if you can breathe? Do you _ask_ me if you can blink? You walk on the ground every day without asking each grain of sand if it's all right with them. So why the hell are you asking me if you can go outside? I don't know why I'd care or what it'd matter if I did. If _you_ really want to walk around in the street, then what I've got to say about it shouldn't stop you. Do what _you_ want; not what someone else wants. It's easier if you never ask. I don't walk up to a merchant and say, 'Well, sir, I was thinking about robbing your house tonight and killing your family. Are you free?' Why, he'd be expecting me after that idiotic move."

Ergo, Malik had thrown himself into a paradox. He stopped asking for things around his 'uncle' because he'd been told not to, even though he wasn't supposed to do what people told him. This apparently hadn't occurred to the criminal genius. Or, mostly likely, he'd just given up trying so much.

Malik was currently outside, meandering without asking, as was required. The heat was insufferable and he eventually sought shelter next to a tall building. He listened to women bickering down the street and people swearing at inanimate objects. Everyone was irritable on account of the heat, and ropes were being drastically shortened.

"Aw, Malik-kun looks bored. Are you bored, Malik-kun? Is it too warm for you today?"

Malik looked sullenly up at the tall man in front of him. Ryuuji leered back in amusement.

Confident smirk and some more than suggestive dialogue at the ready, Otogi Ryuuji was someone you never attempted introducing a sixteen-year-old to. He owned and operated a certain, frighteningly successful brothel in the pleasure district no one really talked about. If they did, the reference was presented entirely in euphemisms and clandestine gestures. The place's motto, which Ryuuji proclaimed loudly when under siege by moralists, was: "If the Pharaoh can get away with it, why shouldn't we?" Malik hadn't known what he meant by this until recently (from Thief Bakura) and found himself wishing he'd never asked.

"Well, you're certainly being quiet today. It's only over one hundred degrees in the shade."

Malik blinked. He didn't have a reply.

"C'mon, then. We'll see how much you've practised your little talent now, okay? It'll give you something to do."

Malik offered only a dispassionate shrug and followed Ryuuji in lack of any other way to occupy himself for the rest of the afternoon. When the brothel wasn't serving to the pleasures of some severely conflicted men, it was breaking the law with illegal monster duels. People from every direction of the Nile came around during the daylight hours to test their skill in duels and tournaments. The main goal was ultimately to challenge Ryuuji or Mai. If you lost (which was always the case) you were given to the High Priest Seth, along with your tournament entrance fee to be cultivated by the duel monster raisers of the palace. This ensured Ryuuji and his businesses' safety and kept people from dueling him often (though the duelists (mainly men) preferred to challenge Mai, who was vain and offered more than just her title).

One unique point when it came to Ryuuji's underground duels was that they weren't fought the way Pharaohs and priests fought duels. Duellists who were summoning had to condition themselves to produce the stronger opponent, before walking into the ring. You never knew how weak or powerful another's monster was until it was summoned.

"So, how's that little monster you were summoning?" Ryuuji asked as he walked. Malik kicked a rock forcefully at a house and watched it glance off the plaster into the sand. Ryuuji's eyebrow arched curiously.

"It's still a stupid vegetable," Malik snapped.

"I'd rather think it's a fruit," Ryuuji pondered in agreement, unaffected by Malik's frustration.

"There are no 'tomatoes' in Egypt, baka! It's a freak."

Ryuuji nodded knowingly in an attempt to be apathetic. It didn't work as well as he hoped, and Malik was scowling at him.

"Why are you such an idiot?" the boy asked bluntly.

Ryuuji blinked at him, momentarily taken aback, "I am not."

Malik groaned and slapped his forehead. He couldn't believe it. "You run an illegal enterprise, Otogi-san. You're supposed to be wily, dangerous and elusive. You're the one who has to summon the strongest monsters and defend your position. How does someone with that responsibility get away with acting like a moron?"

Ryuuji shrugged, "Dumb luck?"

"I'm thinking Luck must be pretty dumb if she's helping you out."

"Oh, that's witty, Malik-kun! I think Thief Bakura's rubbing off on you," Ryuuji cheered as they reached the momentary duelling centre, "Lets see if he's messed you up enough to help with that tomato monster."

Malik frowned. That was it. The hideous monster he called his own, born from teen angst and anger at the world. Ryuuji had been bored one day and wanted to see if it was possible Malik had some spiritual energy pent up into a duel monster. Ryuuji believed anyone could formulate some hideous little fiend (or spell-caster, or dragon, or plant, etc.) of his own. All you needed was initiative and a well-tested fight-or-flight response (which was invoked by fear and pain (mostly, fear _of_ pain) and it proved that Ryuuji's synopsis agreed quiet well with other explanations he'd heard via Priest Seth). Knowing Thief Bakura and watching Malik holding sulk-fest in the corner, Ryuuji had leaped to the assumption Malik could summon a certain, though not proficiently strong, creature of his own. His idea was verified when the boy, after several explanations and instructions, had brought forth some sort of plant he called a tomato. Ryuuji had been quite please with himself at this, before Thief Bakura heard about it and personally broke his nose. He didn't blame the white hair man either.

In Egypt, there was a stigma attached to those who could summon full-fledged duel monsters, no matter how powerful. The creatures among the people of the city were mainly associated with antisocial criminals or the insane. If you weren't a fully trained priest who kept your monsters in nice stone tablets, your mental power was considered raw and dangerous. The instant authority discovered someone in the city had the ability to summon, that someone was arrested and brought before the Pharaoh and his court for extraction. It was widely accepted throughout the country that those, who weren't of the court, who controlled a monster from their minds were mentally troubled. It was a sign of bad parenting if a child could summon even something along the lines of a Kuriboh. It proved you had denied your son or daughter some form of emotional support to the very extreme that they would form either something rather cuddly to defend themselves or something destructive to invoke terror. Of course, Thief Bakura hadn't attacked Ryuuji because it was proved he had terrible parenting skills. While Ryuuji hunched over in the floor clutching his nose, the furious criminal cited his opinion of Malik being too weak to understand the burden that came with one's duel monster and that he'd summon the stupid thing in public without thinking. Then, since Malik was fifteen, the priests would perform an investigation to see who was guilty of causing the boy to resort to such means of attack, since the Mystic Tomato wasn't strongly defensive. If they discovered Ryuuji, they'd convict him of training children for his illegal duels by sending them to Thief Bakura, who in turn would be the receiving end of rumours about paedophilia to raise an attack monster out of the boy.

Ryuuji had been quite surprised at how extensively Thief Bakura understood the consequences (and at how much he was able to prophesies). He hadn't worried about it though, and stuffily explained how some people harbor this energy, whether good or evil, and aren't fully aware of it until something tragic happens. Before they know it, they're on their way to jail for attacking someone in the bazaar. It'd be better that Malik know about the 'tomato' so he could recognize and repress it. Thief Bakura had glared at him for a few moments before leaving. Malik, who had been pretty much lost for most of the conversation, was left with a half-whimpering, half-smouldering Otogi Ryuuji. As soon as Ryuuji was able to leave his room without the indignity of a bandage on his nose (which had, thank the Gods, healed straighter than expected), he offered to teach Malik about the world of duel monsters to spite Thief Bakura. Malik hadn't really been ecstatic about the whole thing, and when his monster turned out to be crushingly pathetic, he'd wanted to throw his hands in the air and give up on it.

"Now lets see if your monster is any better. Summon him."

"It's still going to be that Idiot Tomato."

"I believe you said his name was 'Fantastic Tomato' the first time you saw him."

Malik frowned and summoned the monster, promptly attacking Ryuuji with it.

"Oi! Matte yo!" Ryuuji yelp as the thing bounced towards him at lightening speed, "He's got _teeth_ now?"

Malik, though it occurred to him Ryuuji may have been bluffing, stopped his attacked and looked carefully at the tomato. Ryuuji let out a sigh of relief and walked up to Malik to get a better view as well.

"Nice tongue…." Ryuuji smirked as the monster grinned wickedly up at them, "And to think, last week it was a red ball with eyes. What's this thing's name?"

"Mystic Tomato."

"He looks stronger than that one you had before. What happened? Did your girlfriend dump you or something?"

Malik rolled his eyes and the tomato made a quick lunge at Ryuuji, which sent the man shooting the other direction. "Will you stop doing that?" Ryuuji asked irately from where he was sitting on a table, "You don't want me to kill that little sprout, do you?"

Malik finally grinned, amused by the criminal entrepreneur cowering from Mystic Tomato.

"You don't kill monsters, Otogi. Players usually forfeit before then to save themselves."

"Giving up a match just to be handed over to Priest Seth isn't really any better," Ryuuji said a bit darkly. He was implying towards rumors of what exactly happened to those prisoners Priest Seth acquired by his own devices and kept from the rest of the imperial sect. When Seth responded to a report of activity involving anything from monsters to high treason, everyone scattered. Therefore, the High Priest depended on such people as Otogi Ryuuji for gain. Ryuuji wasn't certain how long it would last, though; since he was losing his best-paying customers to lost tournaments their egos had driven them to. Priest Seth hadn't liked the weakening turn out after a year of receiving those who had failed the ultimate duels. He was trying to collaborate a scheduled raid with Ryuuji to somehow prove to everyone Priest Seth had turned against his illegally operating affiliate. Ryuuji wasn't too enthusiastic with the plan, but it was either collaborate or invite Priest Seth to let you experience the real thing.

"You wouldn't turn me in, Otogi. This is all mostly your fault."

"It's your monster."

"Which I would have been blissfully ignorant of…"

Ryuuji interrupted, "Until you attacked some poor fruit vendor who told you off for taking (stealing) one of those nasty little dried dates they always seem to have so much of." He suddenly changed the subject, "I mean, they should at least try to make it _look_ like people are buying those things regularly and not just when going on trips. Then folks wouldn't feel inclined to take them under the assumption nobody else wants any."

"Since when are you concerned about how to be a successful fruit seller?" Malik asked with a small sneer.

Ryuuji grinned back. He answered anyway, "I'd like to run one of those vendors. Farmers around here have no business sense."

"Oh, and are you going to conceal illegal merchandise in your grain sacks?" the boy asked next, with not-so-subtle sarcasm. The diminutive makings of a frown graced Ryuuji's face for a moment.

"You're extremely rude," he stated honestly, "I've never intended to hide anything but my duel monsters from people. I'm convinced that as long as Atem's on the throne and Mahaado's a High Priest, my brothel's practices are fully permissible since brothels, in general, are not illegal. Everything said against my business has to do with taboo, unless, of course, it's the duel monster tournaments. There is no official record of me ever duelling, and that's about all people _don't_ know. I think, therefore, that I can sell fruit and profit extraordinarily."

"Where's the immorality in selling fruit?"

"Not common, I'll let you know. I'm thinking of starting a whole chain of fruit retailers throughout the city. It could be a successful business. Most of the farmers in the bazaar aren't the smartest."

Malik nodded slowly, "I have no idea how business works, so I can't agree with you. All I can say is: you _will_ try. Maybe you'd like to sell this stupid tomato?"

The Mystic Tomato blinked up with an expression that would have looked innocent, had it not been overshadowed by a disturbing, sharp-toothed grin. Ryuuji cringed and looked the other way as the long, snakelike tongue slithered out. What appeared to be veins were throbbing excitedly as the tomato blew a particularly upsetting wet raspberry.

"That little monster is enormously indecent, Malik-kun," Ryuuji said, as the tomato wagged it's tongue provocatively in the air, making several guttural purrs and hisses in accompaniment. Malik, however, was merciless, and laughed at Ryuuji's discomfort.

"So the Mystic Tomato is four stars in power?" Ryuuji said to distract his attention, "There's fourteen hundred attack and eleven hundred defence. He isn't too bad for such an inexperienced and undeveloped mind as your own."

Malik shrugged and fell back lazily into a hard wooden couch. The tomato disappeared as he suddenly lost interest in its behavior. Ryuuji was beyond confused.

"Ha, you must tell that to everyone," the boy sneered hauntingly, glaring at the ornamental cats carved into the smooth, stained ebony wood and picking at them with his thumbnail. He pried one quartz eye out of its socket before Ryuuji yanked him onto the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" Malik asked hotly, now on the ground and not knowing why. Ryuuji scowled down at him, more irritated than Malik had ever seen him.

"Damn, you're just like Thief Bakura. How many times do I have to tell you people?" he sighed and rearranged the reed mats on the couch, "If you simply _cannot_ keep yourself from defacing the furniture then you do _not_ get to use it."

Malik blinked at him, a bit in awe, "Are you able to keep Thief Bakura from using your furniture when he starts destroying it?"

Ryuuji frowned. "Yes," he answered suspiciously. Malik's amazement grew.

"How?"

Ryuuji sighed and sat down in the perfect lounging position on the couch he'd just thrown Malik from. He didn't look very relaxed, though. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and seemed to be trying his best to suppress a headache: to force it under his eye sockets, out his ears, and towards someone else (most likely to the boy sitting on the floor). His voice, when he spoke again, was a faint, tired tone as if his vocal cords had been denied a moment to recuperate after some long-winded diatribe. Malik was surprised.

"I remind him that furniture is a privilege," Ryuuji said simply enough and sounding his age for once, "There are two basic ways to make money illegally: being a ruffian and breaking laws through flat out robbery, or smooth talking and working your way to breaking laws for higher gain and greater convenience. Since I don't consider myself a very bold person in the face of the law, I lean towards the latter of the two. Thief Bakura, though, has the making of a damn narcissist and an antisocial lack of interest towards the fact that there are more things to this world than him and his gain. Basically, he's stuck running all the time from authorities after some enormous criminal act goes down. Therefore, he won't ever have his own home and the stability to purchase or steal and keep things like chairs and tables. It's not like he'd pine after the loss, though, but he'll disrespect the furniture of anyone who owns it because he cannot have it. He's perfectly self-centered and wants everything—even what he doesn't need."

Malik listening to this lecture and nodded slowly. As soon as Ryuuji seemed to have reached a conclusion however, he grinned.

"I think you're wrong."

"Why?"

"I think he's just trying to get under your skin."

Malik grinned and stood, confident in his cleverness. Ryuuji looked up through his fingers rather indifferently, as if to say, 'Well, your idea's amusing in its pointlessness, but who cares?' Malik choose to ignore this expression and was trying to decide how to keep himself from becoming rapidly bored. Ryuuji was looking at him rather hatefully, but that was understandable. Ryuuji was constantly assaulted with headaches in the afternoon and they made him both unstable and unexciting. Malik would have thought the man was being histrionic just to end tiring conversation, but when one considered how little time Ryuuji spent sleeping, it was easy to accuse him of having a very low tolerance for people who were trying to make him concentrate. He was easily too tried to think.

Malik used Ryuuji's excuse to end the conversation as his own and headed for the door. One last look in the room was just an image of someone who was extremely stressed. Malik rolled his eyes and considered summoning the tomato to further vex the man. He decided against it, by the relevant fact of Ryuuji being in the perfect mood to kill and not care about it. Malik frowned. Even though he looked about ready to pass out, Ryuuji would be up and perfectly normal in less than an hour. He was terrible, taking catnaps that were more like closing one's eyes and counting to one hundred. In the same position, Malik would have felt dead and heavy for days as he tried to recover _one_ night of no sleep. Ryuuji was probably on some energy-stimulating narcotic. How else could someone shift between temperaments so quickly? It wasn't like the practice was uncommon among prostitutes and others, who had to appear almost ceaselessly awake at hours when no one else should be.

Malik shook his head and left. He entered the main duelling room to practise his pastime of watching those willing to risk everything for a competition of competence. One duel was particularly interesting near the back corner, where a hooded man had just summoned a creature he referred to as some sort of deranged ox. Malik observed in mute fascination as the axe-wielding cattle easily damaged it's opponent, a small sea dragon that didn't stand much of a chance against even the Mystic Tomato. There was a polite applause for the victor as his opponent dropped out and hurried off to find some dead leaves to defeat. Malik grinned in silent awe and noticed one person from the audience was stepping forward, clapping louder than the rest. He found this equally interesting and pulled back in order to observe unnoticed.

To the surprise and immediate horror of those around him, Thief Bakura had stepped up with a distinctive swagger and mocking grin that promised death and worse to anyone who challenged it. If the white-haired man was intimidating alone, there was no beating him in a crowd, where his self-destructive nature made everyone in the room uneasy.

"That was really an amazing duel, you two," he jeered, pronouncing his booming claps with retarded pauses. An eerie light of amusement shone in his eyes, fuelled by the memory of some sadistic inside joke. When Thief Bakura was slouching around the house, bragging about his death-defying accomplishments, it was easy to forget just how freighting he could suddenly appear. Malik was in accord with the crowd and backed away almost nervously.

"I truly enjoyed you're technique in particular," he point towards the hooded man, "Your ox really takes after an associate of mine's. Maybe you've heard of him?" he asked loudly before adding in a lower tone Malik could hardly hear, "You and I both know he was arrested a few months ago."

At this, the hooded man grabbed Thief Bakura by the hair and proceeded dragging him across the room to the hallways that led to (among other places) Ryuuji's room. To Malik's surprise, Thief Bakura was on the verge of laughing and failed to put up any fight. The other man, however, seemed fervently angry. Malik followed slowly as everyone else tried their best not to become a part of the situation and occupied themselves with heated discussions on the formation of duel monsters and the weather.

"Just what do you think you're doing, interrupting my duels?" the hooded man spat as he threw Thief Bakura into one of Ryuuji's favourite rooms. The tomb robber was far too busy laughing over the hilarity of it all to confess. Malik dived in and ducked behind a large vase to hear everything out.

"I'm just an amused bystander, now, don't blame me for enjoying such a terrific match—especially with the stolen duel monster. I had no idea you were so cruel to my dear associate, Seth."

A sound like a furious growl emitted from the hooded man's cloak before he threw the hood off. Underneath was a rather heat flushed priest.

"It's _Priest_ Seth, Infidel."

Thief Bakura sneered, "If you say so, _Priest_ Seth."

"If you weren't protected by Otogi's and my agreement, I'd be happily duelling with whatever pathetic monster you've made," the priest snapped back.

Malik was uncertain whether it was heat or frustration that kept Priest Seth's face red after Thief Bakura's dripping sarcasm. Of course, he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Tell me, is you incognito apparel a bit stuffy? You look like someone's tomato."

Priest Seth glared, doubly infuriated by the fact he had no idea what a tomato was. "How am I supposed to resemble a tomato?"

"You're very, very red," Thief Bakura explain quickly, reaching for one of the mirrored plates Ryuuji left in all of his own rooms, "Do you want to see how much, _priest_?"

Priest Seth knocked the glass out of the white haired man's hands angrily. It flew straight towards the vase and missed Malik by only a few feet. He winced when the hard surface shattered, but continued listening, determined neither would discover him if he remained inconspicuous. He'd forgotten, however, that professional thieves were very good at locating sneaks.

"Malik? What are you doing back there?" Thief Bakura asked unexpectedly, while Malik's blood froze, "And don't you pretend you're not there, I can see your reflection in the glass, fool."

Priest Seth turned around, dismayed that someone had discovered him besides Thief Bakura. Not knowing what else to do, Malik stood up slowly and kept his eyes on the ground.

"Gomen nasai," he apologised. Before Thief Bakura or Priest Seth killed him, he wanted to let them know he was sorry.

"Who's this, tomb robber?" the tall man asked as he fiddled with his hood, not sure whether to put it back up or not. Thief Bakura crossed his arms and frowned at Malik. His inner amusement looked exceptionally lethal.

"He's one of Ryuuji's. That's about all I could tell you. I'd be damned to know what he's good for, he's a terrible spy," lied the thief. If Malik hadn't known better, he would have been willing to believe the statement.

"Is he anything to Otogi?" Priest Seth asked, reaching instinctively for the Sennen Rod. Malik's eyes widened and he understood the man was waiting for Thief Bakura to allow him to do…something. What was a Sennen object capable of anyways? Malik didn't know. He just knew that you didn't want to be on the opposing end when someone attacked with the artefact.

"Don't do anything!" Thief Bakura admonished quickly, "Him and Ryuuji are…_close_."

Malik didn't like the implication on the last word, but it didn't bother him much as Priest Seth scowled and pulled the Sennen Rod back under his cloak. The boy focussed his eyes back on the ground with renewed enthusiasm, trying to appear somewhat of the uneducated, subservient type that posed no threat to anyone but themselves.

"What as he doing behind that vase? It's suspicious."

"Oh, well he's kind of an idiot," Thief Bakura explain, thoroughly enjoying himself, "He probably heard you dragging me around so uncouthly and hid on impulse. He's extremely timid, like a little girl. His own family probably wouldn't claim him in public."

Malik gritted his teeth and tried hard not to leap at the white-haired man and kill him in front of the High Priest. Thief Bakura was certainly taking over advantage of the chance to insult his 'nephew'.

"Well, I can't have him going around telling people he saw Priest Seth at Otogi Ryuuji's," the brunette stated factually, "You can't just pretend he doesn't know anything."

"I know, I know," Thief Bakura dismissed with a wave of his hand as he devised a strategy, "You stay here and I'll go ask Ryuuji about it."

Priest Seth didn't look too convinced with this plan, but nodded anyway, casting a furious glance at Malik, who was looking up boldly for his position. "Infidel!" Seth growled in warning. Malik jumped before nodding apologetically and focusing again on the boring floor. He spent an abbreviated lifetime waiting for Thief Bakura to return. Most of his energy was concentrated in not looking up at Priest Seth, who, by his movement, sounded like he was seething. Twice Malik felt it was in he best interests to bolt, but didn't budge due to the threat of the Sennen Rod. He was relieved for the first time in his life to see Thief Bakura return.

"All right, I've told Ryuuji and he wants to reach some sort of compromise. He's in his room right now, so we'll meet him there," he said before grinning at Seth, "You may want to put that ridiculous little hood back on. Ryuuji's room is on the other end of the hall."

Priest Seth, who would have put the hood on without a moment's hesitation or concern, glared defiantly as he pulled the cloth around his face, as if swearing to remove it without a doubt in the future.

"Yatte. Let's go have our little chat then!" Thief Bakura almost cheered and opened the door.

Malik considered making a break for it as soon as they left the room, but was prevented from doing so by the tomb robber's set grip on his shoulder. He continued on reluctantly to where he'd left Ryuuji less than an hour before. As they reached to door, Thief Bakura cast Malik a warning glare before pushing him ahead to knock. The boy understood perfectly; he would be given no chance to escape where Priest Seth couldn't pull out the Sennen Rod and attack.

"Don't knock, open the damn door. You know Ryuuji _never_ answers," the white haired man ordered impatiently. Malik gave up stalling for time and did as he was told.

The room wasn't much different from the way Malik had left it. Even if it had been, he wouldn't have noticed thanks to poor skills of observation. Thief Bakura and Priest Seth quickly ushered the disinclined boy in, and Seth made sure he slammed the door to officially throw off his hood for the second time. His expression wasn't at all enthusiastic, just cross. Malik looked away from him before he could be reprimanded for staring.

"Ryuuji, your _quiet_, _girly_, little _friend_ here has been sneaking around, as I told you. I'm afraid he knows a bit too much about the running of your business," Thief Bakura announced, prodding Malik in the back with each stressed word. It was clear what he was really saying: 'Shut up, look down, and stay by Ryuuji, baka.' Malik had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

"Really?" Ryuuji asked, appearing almost out of nowhere and grabbing Malik away from his initial two captures. Malik wasn't sure which he preferred. At least the first two hadn't been cutting off his circulation by energetically hugging him.

"Just what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he hissed in Ryuuji's suddenly much closer ear. Ryuuji scowled at him for a second before turning back to everyone else. "We really ought to sit down and discuss this. Standing is very tiring."

Ryuuji motioned towards the chairs and couch and the group headed towards them. Malik followed with a muted sigh because, foreseeing his want to run out of the room, Ryuuji had wrapped one arm tightly around his waist and began dragging him towards the cat couch. He sat down, planting the boy firmly next to him, and began talking.

"So, Bakura told me Malik was caught somewhere he shouldn't have been. What is this about?"

Priest Seth glared and waited for Thief Bakura to explain it all.

"As I said, he was sneaking around. He hid behind a large vase and tried to avoid detection. Of course, that's impossible with me, so I naturally caught him."

"Oh, then this really isn't _that_ complicated a situation," Ryuuji said thoughtfully, assuming Malik hadn't heard much with the experienced thief's mean detection skills. Priest Seth shook his head.

"No, it's terrible. If that fool's first reaction is to hide, how many clandestine little conversations has he heard? I say we get rid of him; arrest him for petty theft and have him conveniently disappear before his public amputation."

Malik was oddly comforted to see Ryuuji's eyes had widened in horror. That wasn't to say he was comfortable physically, however. Ryuuji reflexively tightened his grip as the brunette was speaking, and Malik was finding it significantly harder to breathe.

"I'm not letting you do that to Malik!" Ryuuji said angrily once he recovered his momentary revulsion.

"Can he read then?" Priest Seth asked for what seemed to Malik no reason whatsoever.

"No," Ryuuji said truthfully, even though he had no idea if Malik could.

"Then I could charge him with speaking against the government and have his tongue severed."

Malik gagged at the thought of having such thing happen. Fortunately, Ryuuji looked just as disgusted as the boy next to him, and was shaking his head in strong disagreement.

"No, his tongue is perfectly fine where it is."

"I'd usually have his hands taken as well for a theft/treason suit, but I'll be lenient and settle with the tongue, granted he's too dull-witted to ever learn reading and writing."

Malik looked nervously down at his hands and tried not to think about having them hacked off. He was beginning to wish he hadn't followed Thief Bakura and been caught. Nothing good ever came from being near the white haired man, and now it sounded like Malik was going to lose his tongue for it. Things were swiftly plummeting into the worst possible state. For example: He was already much closer to Ryuuji in ways he'd never anticipated.

"You're not going to cut anything off of him!" Ryuuji snapped in exasperation, tired of all the mental images that where being thrown at him, "Not even his hair, so you can just get over _that_ solution."

Thief Bakura was looking thoroughly pleased with the turn of events as his little 'nephew' squirmed in Ryuuji's grip. He'd pulled Malik closer as emphasis, which, though Malik was sure it produced just an absolutely wonderful sentimental affect, wasn't exactly enjoyable.

"You know what, Seth?" the thief asked with a small sneer.

"_Priest_ Seth," the brunette corrected with a growl.

"Whatever," the white haired man shrugged off, "Anyways, you know Malik probably knows nothing except the fact you're _Priest_ Seth. If you hadn't been so eager to correct me, he probably wouldn't have known who you were. I mean, how many times does a little idiot like him see the Pharaoh's court? If we're going to cut off anything, I think I'd be your brain, which obviously isn't working all that well."

Priest Seth shot up in a second, Sennen Rod at the ready. He held it up to Thief Bakura with a menacing glare, daring him to finished demeaning the ultimate figure of authority in the room. Malik jumped back and toppled over Ryuuji, who was looking perfectly fearless and having the audacity to glower back at the brunette. Thief Bakura, on the other hand, had dodged what Malik recognized as the Sennen Rod with a blade on its end. Apparently the artefact was interchangeable as a weapon.

"I've had enough of your smart remarks, Tomb Robber!" the brunette hissed. Malik had expected him yell, but the low tone proved much more threatening. Priest Seth was probably an expert at invoking fear just as Thief Bakura was an expert at making people nervous, "I'm going to let that idiot out of this room without making sure he can't say anything. It's too dangerous."

With this livid proclamation, Priest Seth turned to Malik, Sennen Dagger at the ready. In short, the boy was terrified. The man took a step towards him and he frantically tried to hide behind Ryuuji, whose arm was ruining his only chance of escape. Unfortunately, Ryuuji didn't agree at all with the human shield scenario and refused to be removed from his seat.

"Ryuuji!" Malik complained furiously as he felt someone grab his hair and yank him back. They were left with only a few strands as Malik in last second's desperation had anchored himself to the green-eyed coward. He ducked his head and clapped his mouth shut, not willing to lose his tongue without a valiant struggle. Priest Seth tried to pull him off Ryuuji, while Thief Bakura was trying to pull the maniac away from both of them. The boy clinging to him with unexpected strength left Ryuuji rather defenceless, but then, he wasn't in any direct danger and would be retaining his tongue for a quite a while.

Of course, regrettably enough, Malik had never built a reputation on being in any way strong, and before he knew it, the murderous priest had his head back, trying to pry open his mouth.

"You idiot!" the man snapped, "I'm not going to _kill_ you if you don't behave."

"This really isn't any better," Thief Bakura interjected while grabbing for the Sennen Rod in an attempt to disarm the brunette, "Remember the agreement. You aren't supposed to harm anyone Otogi Ryuuji tells you not to."

"AND NOW THE IDIOT KNOWS ABOUT THE _AGREEMENT_?" Priest Seth snapped back while Malik moved his head away again, "And _will_ you hold still?"

"No, he won't because he probably doesn't want to _lose his tongue_," Bakura informed him, "He's not deaf."

"Which is why he shouldn't talk anymore."

Through this argument, Malik heard Ryuuji whimpering as the ornamental chair was pressing its lovely carved designs into his back. He was clearly not in the best immediate position out of the four. Malik was in the worse, though, so he wasn't in the mood to sympathize. Seth tried to get his hand around the Malik's throat in order to choke him until he began gasping, but the boy's gold neckbands were making it hard for him to establish any sort of grip. Instead, he reached for an earring and began pulling at it painfully.

"Itai!" Malik screamed angrily. Priest Set reached towards his mouth triumphant, but stopped and pulled back with a roar. Malik, who had ducked as well as he could back into Ryuuji the instant he was released, watched what was happening out of the corner of his eye.

The Mystic Tomato was grinning from the table where Seth had tossed it, wagging its tongue about and blowing wet raspberries. There was a macabre dripping of blood from its teeth as Priest Seth crouched in the corner nursing a deep bite wound in his arm. He was too stunned to notice the dropped Sennen Rod, which Thief Bakura jumped for greedily. He stood in front of the furious brunette flourishing the item around triumphantly while Seth glared.

"We agreed _you_ were not to attack authority with any duel monster, Tomb Robber!" Priest Seth spat.

"Oh no!" Thief Bakura mocked, "You mean now Malik knows _more_ about the agreement?" He grinned and shrugged at the Mystic Tomato, "And anyways, it's not my monster."

The tomato bounced happily at this in a demented, self-satisfied dance. Its long tongue flapped hideously with each hop. It seemed to be mocking everyone in the room in its impudence to appear without warning.

"Did _you_ attack me?" Seth asked Ryuuji accusingly.

"Don't be a baka. If I'd summoned a monster, you'd be dead right now. I don't do flesh wounds," Ryuuji defended himself crossly, "and that's a pretty low-grade monster compared to your standards of excellence anyways. But then, I don't know if it has any affects. It's never duelled."

"Oh, you seem to recognize the monster then. Is it that whimpering idiot's?"

"Yes, it's Malik's. The Mystic Tomato really isn't that impressive, but it did catch you off guard. Otherwise, you certainly would have been able to defend yourself."

The monster added a few new bobs and spins to its dance and blew a raspberry at Seth to accent Ryuuji's conclusion. The creature knew perfectly well it had the element of surprise, and was openly proud of how perfect its attack had gone. Probably all it regretted was not sufficiently biting the priest's entire arm off, which it was fully capable of with the proper aim and pressure.

"Good luck defending yourself now, though," Thief Bakura scoffed, "I have your Sennen Item. How bad did the tomato get you?"

Priest Seth looked uncertainly at his wound and winced. Malik noticed the particularly lifeless quality of the limb and Thief Bakura laughed mercilessly.

"Oh, will you look at that! He broke your _arm_? Well, I certainly like that little devil more and more. Good job, Malik."

Priest Seth glowered at the tomb robber, who was idly twirling the Sennen Rod and sneering. He turned back to Ryuuji with a frown. "I'm going to have your little whore arrested, Ryuuji, officially. It's treason to attack the Pharaoh or his court. The Sennen Key will find that damn tomato-thing and he'll lose that as well as his tongue. I can always accuse him of saying certain things when he attacked me."

"What, 'Itai'?" Bakura asked, tossing the rod lackadaisically from one hand to the other.

"And do you want me to accuse him of stealing so a hand goes too?" Priest Seth threatened. Malik cringed at the thought and Ryuuji put an arm around him. Malik wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel restrained or reassured by this.

"You're not cutting anything off of Malik," Ryuuji sighed in exasperation. "In case you aren't paying attention, Bakura has your Sennen Rod."

"I know that," the brunette snarled, "But he's probably going to force me to make some pathetic little compromise to get it back."

"Oh, how well you know me!" Thief Bakura cheered almost excitedly, "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Why are you helping them?" Priest Seth asked furious, "Do you plan on making me pardon you as well, or make tomb robbing legal?"

"No, _Priest_ Seth. I'm not so easy to read, as you seem to have assumed. Though I'm going to make my compromise for entirely selfish reasons, these reasons are none of your concern."

Priest Seth gave Thief Bakura a well-practised death glare and crossed his arms impatiently.

"I can't go back to court without my Sennen Item, so what is it you want?"

Thief Bakura grinned, "Well, knowing that I have the power to request pretty much anything from you, I may need to think about it for a while. Ryuuji, what would you ask for Seth here?"

Ryuuji didn't think about his answer very long, by Malik agreed with it, "That he doesn't cut or order anything cut off of Malik, he doesn't kill Malik, and he doesn't take the Mystic Tomato."

"Yeah, what he said. Also, when I try to take over to world, make everything as difficult for Pharaoh as possible," Thief Bakura said sarcastically, "But then, you'll do that anyways, so no worries."

"Be serious," Priest Seth ordered, "I need the Sennen Rod."

"Then do what Ryuuji says, since I don't need you bound to any promises in order to defeat you."

The brunette looked both relieved and annoyed at this statement. He knew better than to demand Thief Bakura add his own ideas to the bargain, but the final comment almost drove him to acting so irrationally and refusing to leave until he was weighted down with another restriction. Luckily, he amazing self-control kept him from doing or saying anything of the sort.

"Fine, then, I won't steal the monster of, amputate, or kill Ryuuji's squeeze," Set agreed, looking expectantly at the Sennen Rod.

Malik tried to spring up in retaliation and attack the unarmed Priest, but Ryuuji held him down with amazing effectiveness as he nodded along with the barter. Almost reluctantly, Thief Bakura handed over the Sennen Rod. He looked at the item greedily as Priest Seth snatched it back without hesitation. The brunette gave Malik (who was quietly trying to pry Ryuuji's hands off of him) one more well earned 'I want you dead' stare before he one handedly pulled up his hood and opened the door to leave. The instant the door closed, Malik, not fond of being Ryuuji's lap, punched the man in the side of the head and scrambled off.

"Itai…" Ryuuji pouted, rubbing the sore spot as Malik furiously brushed off his clothes.

"Remind me never to _look_ at you again," Malik said irately.

"Then stop looking at me right now," Ryuuji said, kneading his skull the best he could to do something about the new fluctuation of blood flow around his vital brain, "You didn't have to _hit_ me, Malik. Your discomfort wasn't my fault."

Incredibly enough, the boy nodded at this. "You're right," he said, "My _uncle_ probably came up with the whole plan."

Thief Bakura grinned at the emphasis to the word uncle as Malik, once again, broadcasted his doubt in the story he'd been told. "Oh, and are you going to hit me too?" the man scoffed, "Or is Ryuuji weak and, therefore, a much easier target?" he looked at the frowning man, "You really have to stand up for yourself, Ryuuji. I mean, _Malik_, Ryuuji, _Malik_—you let that little shrimp push you around."

"I do not!" Ryuuji defended almost childishly.

"Then why didn't you hit him back? Please don't tell me it was a delayed reaction."

Ryuuji grabbed one of several small, dense cat figurines and threw it with great accuracy at Thief Bakura's head. Naturally, the tomb robber dodged it, grinning.

"You're _just_ like a woman," he cheered with no fear for his health. He ducked another cat and shook his head as he came back up.

"You're never going to hit me. The definition of insanity is pretty much doing the exact same thing over and over," he dodged another, much larger, cat, "and expecting a new result."

"That's cliché!" Ryuuji complained as he forced another feline through the air. He was hastily running out of ammunition and started dividing his time between glaring, throwing and searching for a potential weapon. Malik rolled his eyes and sulked in the corner, feeling extremely irritated with the whole situation. Being in the same room as Ryuuji was bothering him, and he couldn't distract himself from the fact that as far as Priest Seth knew, the blonde boy was trapped in a sick case of homosexual paedophilia. Malik didn't like it, and gave Thief Bakura a vindictive glare before sneaking up behind him with a pre-launched figurine.

Ryuuji's face went blank in shock as he witnessed, for the first time, Thief Bakura wincing in actual pain. Malik was standing behind him, almost serene after the death-sentencing feat. It didn't take long for the white haired man to recover his surprise and the ringing in his ears, and he was soon turning around, looking ready to smite his attacker with his fingernails.

To Ryuuji's further amazement, Thief Bakura defied his reputation and didn't make use of the 'kill now, ask questions later' policy. He looked slowly at Malik, as though trying to establish conclusion on the circumstances leading up to his injury and the boy's nerve to inflict it.

"What was that for?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Malik snapped, more ornery than Ryuuji was used to seeing him.

"Feel free to elaborate for me," Thief Bakura said, allowing Malik, for once, to say exactly what he thought. The boy wasted no time awing over this chance, and explained himself vehemently.

"Well then, _Uncle_, I'll just state the facts: Today, _not only_ did you demean any morally-based reputation I may have once held in public; _not only_ did you ensure I had an enemy willing to pay for my assassination; _not only_ did you reveal my moronic little duel monster to someone who would do something about it: you _also_ made me _sit_ in that disgusting, perverted, sexually conflicted man's _lap_, due to which I will now be scarred for _life_. I will never forgive you for that."

"You won't forgive me for all you said, or just the chance to feel up on Ryuuji?"

Malik took after Ryuuji and threw another cat at the tomb robber. Naturally, the man completed a triumphant duck before realising Malik had formed the genius idea of shooting two figurines simultaneously. The second met its target successfully, knocking Thief Bakura once again in the head. When the room stopped spinning, he leaped at Malik and easily had the boy's arms pinned to his back before he could even take a step. There was obviously some resistance, but bandits tended to be stronger than parentless street urchins.

"Your developing criminal personality is really starting to irritate me."

"Oh well, maybe I'm just learning from example?"

Thief Bakura's lips formed a rare genuine grin at this retaliation, "Do you have a severe problem with authority or something?"

"No, just you in particular."

Thief Bakura was further amused by Malik's very interesting comebacks, which were voiced obnoxiously, even though the assailant had the upper hand. The man was glad of the improvement in the quiet moody attitude Malik had had installed originally. The only way to end was to go down fighting, and that seemed to be the exact mind set Malik had slipped into. Of course, since Thief Bakura wasn't one to instantly reward what he deemed perfect behavior, he twisted Malik's arm mercilessly after the snide reply.

"You should have a problem," he growled, "But you shouldn't say anything about it."

"I just thought you'd like to know so you can have someone to pick fights with in Ammut's belly."

Thief Bakura couldn't stop himself from laughing at this. He was amused and pleased as he released the boy and began picking up cat figurines and setting them on the table. Malik was confused by this behavior, but it didn't seem to bother Ryuuji, who was also clearing things up. The boy was completely lost.

"What are you two doing?"

"Not much," Thief Bakura replied, tipping over one cat and causing a domino affect all the way to Ryuuji, who frowned at him.

"You chipped an ear!" he fussed, inspecting the figures, "If you can't find it in you to help me, then leave."

At this, Thief Bakura was gone. Malik was left standing over a battlefield of statuettes while Ryuuji tried to organize everything. He considered following Bakura's lead and exiting the room, but something about Ryuuji sitting cross legged on the floor scrutinizing each fallen item annoyed him beyond the point of leaving.

"Ryuuji, you just threw those stupid statues across the room! Of course they're broken now."

"I'm merely assessing the damage."

"Bakatare," Malik scowled, sitting down on the small carpet and reaching under the couch for a small black paw. "I guess this one's broken. How's that for assessing the damage?" he chided. Besides rolling his eyes, Ryuuji didn't acknowledge the comment and continued diligently tidying up the chaos not only caused by Thief Bakura, but also from Priest Seth's attack and attempted murder.

"Want me to trash this?" Malik asked, grabbing up a particularly battered figurine. Ryuuji snatched it back furiously.

"Don't touch."

"But look, the thing's hideous."

"I'll find a use for it."

Malik lifted his hands in the classic sign of surrender, "Fine, do whatever you want, Ryuuji. I'll let you amass your own junk piles. It'll give you something to talk about in twenty years."

Ryuuji completely ignored the boy's annoyance with his illogical desire to retain such useless pieces of destroyed art. Malik sighed and began collecting cats from the farther reaches of the room Ryuuji couldn't get to while sitting down. He placed each in a small pile next to the man who looked like he was forcing himself through another headache. When Malik was positive he had collected all of the statuettes available, he collapsed onto the couch and shifted between closing his eyes and watching the equally interesting act of studying and sorting. It wasn't long before he was reduced to picking at the woodwork again.

"Malik."

Malik quickly pulled his hand away from the feline he'd been beheading and tried to look as innocent as possible. He anticipated being yanked out of the chair in a second.

"I really am sorry," Ryuuji said. This not being the next words he had expected, Malik was instantly confused.

"For what?" he asked without thinking. Ryuuji shook his head hopelessly.

"The whole Seth fiasco. Bakura came up with it and I really didn't know anything else that had a chance of working. I mean, you were actually very lucky the priest just wanted to cut your tongue out. The man's a fan of over-reacting, as you may have noticed."

"How can someone like him be expected to be a good priest?"

"He isn't," Ryuuji sighed and explained, "He was born into that and no one's expecting his benevolence. Most of the people in the court inherit their positions. I really don't like the entire system, but at least the Pharaoh has compassion. Of course, Thief Bakura would never see that."

"Why?" Malik asked, unsure why the conversation now included the white haired man.

"Because the former pharaoh didn't seem very compassionate at all, so he's convinced the whole family is corrupt."

"What did the former pharaoh do?"

"He ordered the killing off of a village outside the tombs in order to make the Sennen Items. I think thousands died. No one was really certain how many. It was all people talked about after it happened, though. Many people thought the attack was justified in the village's vile reputation and the making of the Sennen Items, which help govern over the threat of some kind of dark power with duel monsters. Others were convinced it was an inhumane slaughter."

Malik nodded, enthralled, "And what do you think?"

"I'm neutral. It's not my problem. I don't even know much about the Sennen Items and what exactly they're supposed to protect society from. I choose to see duel monsters as just that, duel monsters. You battle with them, test your strength and win rewards. I choose not to worry about the details that don't openly affect me. The deaths of that village are nothing to me, like duel monsters aren't that much to me either. Like I said, it's not my problem—villages or evil powers."

Malik gapped wordlessly at the unmoved attitude with which the man presented his reasoning. He thought it was immensely selfish for Ryuuji to think that way. Even though he wasn't alive when it all had taken place, Malik felt emotionally affected by the massacre (he chose to think of it as one). He related the idea of killing people due to bad reputation to someone walking in and killing everyone in Ryuuji's choice

of business. It was terrifying, and Malik was suddenly scared of the Pharaoh. Sure, Seth was frightening and he had a cruel reputation, but Malik had never connected it with the rest of the court. He suddenly imagined all the priests and priestesses he'd never seen with wicked personalities and a blood lust that forced them to periodically destroy. How exactly did they remove people's duel monsters? Malik supposed there were torturers involved, bestowing pain and insults that the pharaoh and his court generally enjoyed watching.

Malik looked around him nervously and realized his position in the state of affairs. If a government official saw him, would they know he had connections to disgusting sodomites and illegal duelling just by looking him in the eyes? What would they due if they could recognize Malik's own Mystic Tomato? Would he be arrested? Malik knew why Thief Bakura had punched Ryuuji hard in the face when he'd taught Malik to recognise the creature in his mind and how to summon it fully. Ryuuji had seen it as just another monster, like informing someone they had an excellent music ear and teaching them how to perfect it. Thief Bakura, though, had seen the real hassle it would prove and that it was nothing like a gift for proper pitch. Your music talent wasn't going to leap out unexpectedly and bite someone's arm off. You didn't have to repress it in fear of being imprisoned. Only the vultures of the court could legally control the powers of duel monsters. They were the privileged. Everyone else was condemned.

"You're so selfish," Malik finally said angrily after the short time it took him to realize this, "Do you care about anyone but yourself?" Ryuuji frowned at him, but Malik didn't give the man time to answer, "You can organized your stupid cats all day, Ryuuji, I'm not going to help you. Following your philosophy, I guess it really isn't my problem."

Malik stormed out after he made his point. He didn't know why he was yelling at Ryuuji, except he knew the man somehow deserved it. A giant fist had ascended from the realm of cruel understanding, and was wrapping painfully around his stomach, trying to force everything up through the boy's mouth. Malik rushed outside and threw up next to the duelling compound/brothel, grimly noting he was just adding to the accumulating filth. He didn't like the way he was thinking.

What did it mean to have a criminal personality and what made Thief Bakura so certain Malik was developing one? How did the tomb robber's mind work? Was he selfish like Ryuuji, only meaner? You had the be somewhat confident in your ability to beat the odds before you decided you could break laws and get away with it. Something had to develop and nourish that total disregard for authority and (in Thief Bakura's case) consequences. It seemed all that Ryuuji and Bakura cared about were their own interests and this in turn, Malik realized, was forcing him to do the same. He didn't like it. Each attempt to be empathetic and concerned was looked down on. All of his guides in life had been either inexistent or criminal. Why couldn't he have been the son of some poor wheat farmer, destined to inherit the family's grain and market focused legacy? At least he wouldn't have to worry about being in a city where, as of more than and hour ago, one of the most influential people in the entire country wanted you mute or dead, whichever came first.

The boy had never seen the world look so bleak, and wished Ryuuji hadn't said anything about the wickedness of the high court and the former pharaoh. It was only natural the current ruler had taken well after his father. Malik wanted to hide, but he didn't know where. Walking around the city was just a perpetual activity to keep him occupied until the inevitable finally happened.

…Earlier that day, Malik had thought the heat was his only problem.

"Hey, kid."

Malik didn't know he was the one being addressed until there was a light tap on his arm. Already in a bad state, he turned around ready to scream for his life should it be some assassin Priest Seth had hired the instant he left Ryuuji's.

"Fresh fish! Freshest fish you've ever seen, and cheap, too!" the man advertised cheerfully, motioning towards a fish stand.

Everything came down at once in Malik's head as he glared irately, fighting his uncertainty, nerve, fear, and now, ultimate embarrassment of which the man had no idea. Without thinking and letting his rage towards everyone boil over, the furious teen pulled back his fist and swung, connecting easily with the side of the man's jaw and knocking him down. People standing nearby looked at him appalled. Malik, embarrassed at his hyper paranoia from before he'd been tapped on the shoulder, and angry with himself as well as the fish vendor, spun around and ran from the scene as fast as he could. He didn't stop until he reached the river and dived into the reeds and mud, utterly humiliated and not sure what else to do with himself.

He summoned the Mystic Tomato then, deciding he didn't care if he was caught. He was already guilty of everything by association. The monster grinned up at him, its lewd appearance completely out of place when it wasn't making a point. Alone, the tomato looked silly and pathetic.

Malik smirked as he looked at the monster. Ryuuji wouldn't look so intimidating without all of his assets behind him. He'd look like a weak, scrawny man with no real future. Priest Seth would too, a cynic in a sea zero human identity. The only one who stood alone was Thief Bakura. His element was himself and he didn't seem to need anything else. Caring so little about others that it made him seem more than human. His setting himself against everything meant could therefore stand-alone and not lose his natural dominance. He was extremely intelligent and devoted to power and its accumulation. Every one of his actions, in the end, only benefited him. Malik wondered if once in his life Thief Bakura had lost everything, and for that reason didn't need anything? Maybe there was something about that village that egged him on?

The tomato snapped loudly at a swimming fish and Malik looked up. Coming down the river was a royal looking ship, and seated in the throne with jewellery signifying his authority, was the pharaoh. At his left was someone else in a very tall hat, and they were the only two passengers. Malik could only make out their forms, but he was willing to assume the taller one was a priest. He remembered Ryuuji's own snide comments about the pharaoh and smirked. The two men where talking comfortably enough (or as much as possible since priest was left standing), about things Malik couldn't hear. As they grew closer, the sound carried over the water so the boy, who was confident in the security of his hiding place, could hear.

"This entire portion of the river has been trafficked off?"

"No, but it's not a fishing day, and there aren't many fish in this part of the river. The city is far off, so believe me, no one's out here."

"I'm here."

The one Malik decided was the pharaoh sighed impatiently, "Yes, and so am I. No one's watching, or if they are, they wouldn't care, so you can sit down already and not worry about procedure."

Malik almost wanted to laugh at how the two were going about their cruise. That was how dumb evil spent its time then? Bickering over rules when they clearly needed to latch onto on another and enjoy the trip like a pleasant couple.

"All right," the priest consented, grabbing the pharaoh's unused footrest and setting himself down. Only the fact hat he was so tall kept him from becoming considerably shorter than the pharaoh. Malik couldn't help but to be oddly amused. The two seemed anything but cold hearted and evil, but then, they had no idea they were being watched. Even Thief Bakura wasn't evil every second of the day, but was instead incessantly annoying. Malik's fear had ebbed into another sin of vanity, indifference. He wasn't sure he'd care if they caught him then. If it had been up to his teenage mood swings, he would have been dead ten times over. Still, the atmosphere near the apparently loneliest portion of the river was extremely relaxing if not for the two men discussing things Malik didn't understand about people he didn't know. His attention was re-established at the mentioning of a familiar name.

"Seth? You're not serious."

"Yes, he came in looking perfectly infuriated today," the priest explained.

"He angers easily," the pharaoh nodded in accordance, "What was different?"

"He was injured, for one. Did you see the teeth marks?"

Malik felt his fear begging to take control again. He began questioning just how invisible he was while the tomato grinned almost proudly in reminisce of its accomplishment.

"Can the healers fix it?"

"Of course, but they were a bit uncertain at first, which you can imagine wasn't very good adding to Seth's temperament. His agitation made things difficult. He wouldn't let go of the Sennen Rod."

"Then it _wasn't_ a wild animal?"

"He didn't say."

"You mean someone _attacked_ Seth with a Shadow Monster and he _didn't_ arrest them?"

"That's what it looks like."

"I find it hard to believe."

"I know."

Malik blinked at the reeds in front of him, watching them blindly. The barge was getting closer with each sentence, but he didn't move. There'd soon be a point where he could look up into the face of the pharaoh he'd never seen and give up. They'd make him confess Ryuuji, Thief Bakura, and even Priest Seth; all on the side of the river where no one could see them hide the body when they were done.

After a protracted pause, the pharaoh finally said, "Maybe it was a very strong monster and Seth, being Seth, doesn't want anyone else to know about it. He likes to guard the best monsters for himself. We all know that."

"Maybe he was taken by surprise."

"What, someone tried to kill him?"

"If so, only him and the attacker know the details. It's really a depressing subject, since Seth is so adamant in outdoing everyone. It must have been a very serious opponent, an unbelievably powerful one. Seth's a fool to think he could take on something that may require a God."

The pharaoh sighed again, and Malik finally balled up the nerve to look up. The barge was much closer than he thought it'd be, and he could see the priest sitting across from the pharaoh perfectly. He could also see the pharaoh, who look just about everything but.

On second though, maybe the hair made him look a little influential. It was big and all over place like a giant headdress growing out of the skull. Malik felt like laughing, but knowing the people Ryuuji usually associated with, the person in the seat's style wasn't entirely that eccentric.

The fact of the matter was, Malik doubted whether the person in the jewellery and linen was even pharaoh. He wondered if there were any princes about the place. Malik had always imagined the pharaoh a little older, maybe a smooth evil leader in his mid-twenties with a slightly sadistic expression, who spoke with confidence, only found in the voices of the extremely privileged. He'd be shrewd as well, and have a perverse air derived from his sexual preference within his own priests. The person on the barge hardly fit the bill. He sat there looking the late teens, talking easily with a man who was definitely a priest. He looked like someone Malik could have known if he'd stayed away from people like Ryuuji and Bakura and hung about with his peers more often.

"Your father would get spies to follow anyone who comes back so suspiciously injured. I think that's what should be done."

"How do you know?"

"Akunadin was talking about that."

The pharaoh sighed again, something he appeared rather prone to. Of course, Malik wasn't too sure if the person even was pharaoh. He'd never heard about a prince, but then, the royal family wasn't something that came up often in the boy's discussions. All he ever heard from Thief Bakura was the constantly prophesy that Egypt was doomed as long as the current dynasty was continued.

"Fine, there can be someone on Seth, but he'll probably find out. He's paranoid like that," the pharaoh (prince?) said in a fed up tone, "But I didn't arrange this trip to discuss the court."

"But that's very important."

"And we can talk about it and be completely serious later."

"All right," the priest consented. Malik was surprised as the man suddenly relaxed his posture to the point where it lost every semblance of its former austerity. His face was still rather blank, but that was only because most of the emotion was expressed in his eyes, which looked both intense and delighted, but nothing severe.

"You're very good at describing things," the pharaoh said with the air of a compliment and changing subjects, "You have all the right words I can never think of."

"If you want me to start talking, you can just ask me to without the introduction."

"I thought it'd be polite. I'm not lying though; I only want to hear you tell me about the Nile. I've always felt intimidated by the river that keeps this country going, but I can never quite realize what I find so impressive. Like I said, you're good with words."

The priest went so far as to even grin at this while his eyes were laughing in silence, "I'm afraid I'll put you to sleep."

The pharaoh smiled back in genuine amusement, "Try me."

The man smiled softly and looked around, taking in the surrounding river and trying to find out where to start. After a moment of absorbing everything and forming an idea of what to say, he started:

"All right then, I'll talk about the very Nile first, because if I didn't, I'd be describing the river valley instead, and it would seem you've seen enough of that from the palace windows. I can't tell you about the delta either, because I rather start at the beginning, though I have no idea where that is. Osiris would know, for he is a god represented in the river's floods. It's obvious a pharaoh and his children would feel intimidated by the river then, since he is a god and is connected to the very source of it all. The pain and deceit of our country's myths, along with the power and divine joy, is all seated with the human gods, the Pharaohs and those that came before him.

"The river is the suffering and the renewal, loved by those that live on its banks. Osiris bleeds in his murder and Sobek dwells in the waters while Ra watches over all, decides he is content with mostly that much. The pharaoh rejoices and does not fear death because his divine brethren await his arrival to the Osiris. Alive he is with Horus, and powerful through this holy claim. But, the river reminds him of many things he is destined to become, and he governs and waits without haste or procrastination for life to leave and yet continue in the more pleasant afterlife. He is endowed certain rights that will continue down his line, and among them is the divine authority that cannot be taken away. He is ruler to the lands of the Nile, and no one else is allotted that authority.

"The river is powerful, like the pharaoh is powerful—sometime even violent when it is required. But, the water is good and supports the people who are ruled by their living god and their divine gods waiting to welcome them to eternity. They worship their pharaoh, who is only more than the sacred material representations in his ability to intervene, and the faithful follow devoutly. There are those who transgress, but then, Osiris wouldn't have murdered and torn himself, and theses people test the faith of the peasants and even the priests. The river is also willing to take these lives and others, to keep reminding use that it is truly a gift to be revered, no matter how many break their religious bonds. Without the Nile, there would be no Egypt, no land of the true gods made for the greatest civilization that is and will ever exist."

The pharaoh nodded at this, listening intently. "Now tell me about the immediate area," he asked eagerly. Malik, still in the reeds, mentally sighed, and began picking at roots to keep himself awake.

"I see a great expanse of water, if you haven't noticed it as well. There's a crocodile on the west bank, where Ra sets down and leaves for the night. He's a wicked looking reptile, lying there prostrate with his mouth wide open in a horrifying display of razor teeth and a vulgar length of tongue. His scaly body needs the replenishing light of the sun god to exist. He seems to be closer to the divine order of things in his direct necessity. We all benefit from the gods in these ways and have no permission to stand against our generous providers."

"Do you think Seth was attacked by a crocodile?" the pharaoh suddenly asked without thinking.

"No, the wound was too small."

"A small crocodile?"

"Ano…. I thought you considered the topic of Seth palace conversation," the priest asked, slightly annoyed with being interrupted.

"Oh, well, I was just wondering. Continue."

The priest once again paused to regain his atmosphere and clearer thoughts. He started out slowly, his rather melodious voice intensifying at references to order and true devotion to one's charitable gods and earthly benefactors.

"Well, the expanse of water is still there, and so is the crocodile. He's as ugly as ever, but the reeds are extremely generous in concealing him from us while he's lazing. The reeds are beautiful as well, and keep the inexperienced from finding many things. When reeds are tall, children hide in them and when they're taller, thieves do too. All good things of the Earth Goddess can be used for foul and innocent purposes. Nothing is free of both evil and good, and many are torn between it. Pharaohs even, are subjected to such decisions. Osiris was fooled, Seth was a murderer, and Horus was a most loyal son. Gods suffer the affects of these natural forces and influences."

After a few minutes of this, Malik seriously stopped caring. He couldn't help thinking how painfully boring the upper class was. What was interesting about listening to someone go on about the everyday Nile? The two were apparently out for more than a cruise, but they didn't do much but talk. Malik didn't know about the pharaoh (was he?), but he was falling asleep. The priest was obviously of the theological vein when it came to describing reality, and everything he said tied in with worshipping the gods. Malik wasn't sure which persona he preferred, severe and concise, or spiritual and verbose. Every damn thing seemed a message from the gods and Malik wasn't made to listen to such long-winded observations and comparisons. Is that what being a High Priest required, a Sennen Item, memorized scrolls, and a nerve that didn't care what happened to people because they couldn't have escaped their fates anyway? If something was evil, was it exterminated for what the rulers believed to be the greater good so there would be no one questioning the logic behind the act, save those of little authority?

Malik didn't know. He was hearing the priest's deep voice, but it said nothing to him. It was just a lullaby pressing on him the desire to close his eyes and sleep—to no longer worry about all the problems and perversions that had presented themselves to him simultaneously that day. With a sigh of tremendous relief, Malik consented and dozed, feeling lazy and warm like the crocodile and letting everything blur nicely into oblivion.

Malik didn't know how long he was asleep, and there was no way he could have kept track. All he knew was that he was being shaken and he was wet. Someone was ordering him to wake up, but he didn't feel like opening his eyes until he evaluated the situation. Thief Bakura had taught him to do so, since you were never too sure if it wasn't better to feint sleep or comatose than suddenly wake up.

"I saw a monster over there," on voice whispered to another behind the person shaking Malik.

"Where?"

"In the reeds."

"There are reeds everywhere!"

Finally a commanding voice carried over the rest and there was the sound of someone standing up and moving forward on a boat, "Is he drowned?" Malik recognized the voice of the pharaoh and went limp, hoping to be presumed unconscious and left on the bank.

"Bring him to the boat. Mahaado will check."

Malik swore to himself as he was carried, with some difficulty, towards the barge. He was eventually placed in the water as the river grew deeper, and it was all the boy could do to keep from cringing at the wetness. He reminded himself he had apparently rolled into the river anyways, so he wasn't getting any drier.

The people Malik blindly assumed were the guards dragged him up and onto the ship. He was jostled and knocked quite ungracefully on the head. The second he was safely aboard (in a sense), the man named Mahaado hurried over. Without opening his eyes, Malik knew everyone present was staring at him in morbid fascination. When Mahaado bent over to inspect him, however, Malik was wide-awake and leaped back, almost toppling back into the river.

"Well, he's not drowned then," the pharaoh said to those gathered. "What is your name?" he asked directly. Malik glared at him and everyone else, determined not to speak. The pharaoh was watching him with looked like concern mixed with bewilderment. Mahaado had made himself nearly expressionless.

"I think he rather looks like a wet cat, the way he's glaring at us like it's our fault," Mahaado returned, studying the soaking boy's expression in mild amusement. The pharaoh grinned at this and Malik silently damned them both.

"Then until otherwise stated, we'll call him Neko."

Malik frowned at the name and dove for the edge of the boat to jump into the water and swim back to the bank. The pharaoh, however, had other plans and Malik was instantly apprehended

"Are you all right? We will not hurt you. My guards just pulled you out of the water; they said a monster pushed you in. Did you see any unusual animals?" The pharaoh asked his question slowly, stressing key words in case the urchin didn't understand. This was too much and Malik retaliated.

"I know what you're saying," he growled, looking quickly at the distance from the edge of the boat to where he was standing.

"And you don't speak badly either. Do you work for the court?" Mahaado asked as he notice Malik kept far from gurgling and spitting out his words like the city's usual vagabonds.

"Why the hell would I want to?" Malik snapped and the pharaoh frowned.

"He speaks correctly but he swears. It's too bad," he said to Mahaado who nodded.

"Many almost respectable people do."

"Yes, I know that."

Malik didn't like being discussed like he wasn't listening and continued glaring. The pharaoh made a great show of averting his attention back to the boy and asked, "Did you see a monster?"

"Monster?" Malik said, feigning ignorance and wondering if the pharaoh could somehow sense he was lying.

"Yes, Neko, a red one which looks like a fruit and has sharp teeth. The guard said it was sticking its tongue out at them. Do you know if it?"

Malik shook his head and looked at the water again. Mahaado laughed.

"It looks like the Neko wants to get back in the water. What a most extraordinary feline!"

"I'm not a damn cat!" Malik said rudely, giving the priest a menacing look through his dripping hair. That comment was just too clever, wasn't it? He didn't think so.

"Watch how you speak to the Pharaoh and Priest Mahaado!" one of the guards ordered. Malik took this as an invitation to attack, but his effort didn't go far thanks to the group that had restrained him.

"Why won't you let me go? I'm alive, aren't I?" he demanded, turning back to the pharaoh, "I'll even swim back myself."

The pharaoh appeared to have not heard. With his hand on his chin, he had a thoughtful expression that was totally oblivious. Malik felt like one of Ryuuji's cat figurines, something imperfect and hideous being scrutinized to see if there was any more point in keeping it. Malik hoped the pharaoh would decide he was useless and let him go.

"I think you're right, Neko. There's no reason why you should be kept from going. You seem to be well."

Malik looked at the water with anticipation, not caring if there were crocodiles and snakes. The guards had made it through, hadn't they?

"Of course, you can't just swim back to the bank. Sobek's has submerged and is no longer lazing like when my guards pulled you out of the water. Crocodiles wake up hungry. It's not safe. We'll let you off when we dock."

Malik froze and looked up at the pharaoh in shock, "Where are we docking?"

"Near the palace, of course. Where else?"

Malik didn't say anything; he was too stunned. He looked nervously around for the crocodile to assure himself it wasn't close and ready to attack if he jumped into the water. The guards released him and moved back to their posts, but Malik wasn't so confident about swimming anymore. He watched the bank were he'd fallen into the water as it swiftly disappeared in bends of the river. With forced resignation, the boy sat down. The other two passengers noticed the tensely clenched fists and Mahaado was annoyed. The blonde boy should have been thankful for being saved by the pharaoh, who hadn't been entitled to risk the life of the royal protection for his sake.

Mahaado couldn't know without using shadow powers, however, that Malik was angry for a reason. The boy was convinced the pharaoh knew about the Mystic Tomato, and was trying to lure him into false security. He was determined not to fall for such an old trick and made sure the pharaoh knew it. Malik didn't like uncertainty. It made him tense when he wasn't in a predictable situation, and he hated everyone who made it that way. He had no idea what the pharaoh was going to do to him, and only knew that he'd have to get away as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

"You live in the city, correct? Or are you angry because you're going to have a long walk home?" the pharaoh asked. Malik imagined he saw right through it. The living-god with short sight wanted to know where he lived, in case he got away.

"I live in the area," Malik answered evasively. The pharaoh didn't seem affected by this, and resumed the poise of deep thought. Mahaado was amazingly inanimate, no longer trailing on about gods and the theocracy. Malik was awed slightly by the enormous character change in the two amidst one insignificant part of the populace. They were taking on the role of divine officials, which was very far from human beings enjoying a part-time rhetoric's observations on a leisurely cruise.

The trip back was dreary and warm. Malik had the sudden desire to simply lay back and doze in the heat, not too different from the crocodile. He was wet, but it wasn't a comfortable feeling in the extreme heat. His skin felt exposed and sticky, chilled while the airlessness and evaporation made him clammy. He shivered then, not from nerves, but from the water evaporating off of him. It would feel much better drying out in direct sunlight, not hunched and looking around distrustfully. He figured diving into the Nile would help, assuming the water would feel warmer than he did, only he couldn't discern the true definition of a foreboding log travelling slowly through the reeds. Was it moving by current or something more?

"I had no idea we'd travelled so far from the palace," the pharaoh seemed to utter impulsively into the growing silence of oars rowing and birds.

"It's probably a good thing we were distracted by Neko, then. Otherwise it would have taken an even longer time to get back."

Malik threw a distinctly hateful glance at the reference, but didn't say anything. He wondered how long it would take Ryuuji or Thief Bakura to realize he was missing. Would they figure he was in trouble, or agree he'd run away after the Priest Seth debacle? Of course, that was inferring they'd even care. Maybe they'd be glad of it? If so, that would certainly prove to Malik he had nothing to live for except himself, and what kind of life was that? He didn't even live for a goal like Thief Bakura.

"By the gods, it certainly is warm enough today," the pharaoh awed while a royal fan bearer circulated the air diligently. Malik smirked sarcastically. The man had no idea how warm it could get, camped in the shade and fanned as he was. Being uncomfortably warm was nothing like sweltering in a cramped adobe house and going outside, only to find that the midday sun was more than willing to burn you alive. But, Malik figured vindictively, in the pampered sense the shade felt lethal without someone fanning you as another offered something refreshing to drink (the pharaoh was currently sipping from a procured goblet thoughtlessly). He didn't very much acknowledge the servant bowing to him with the precious pitcher. His attention was occupied and too busy thinking about something far away. Malik told himself he would have at least offered a thankful nod, but then, that probably wasn't procedure and the servant would have grown a bit uneasy with being noticed so unofficially.

"Do you enjoy sitting in the sun like a cat, Neko?" the pharaoh asked over his drink. Remembering Priest Seth's reaction to being looked at, Malik gave his glare to the Nile and the rippled water aside the boat, "Or do you consider yourself a crocodile and dangerous?" Malik didn't say anything. "Well," the pharaoh concluded, "at least you aren't the hippopotami."

Mahaado jumped in with an explanation, "Well, actually the hippopotamus represents..."

"I do not care," the pharaoh interrupted. Mahaado, looking briefly offended, nodded and remained silent. Malik almost sneered at this inherit dominance with which the pharaoh could control even his lover. By rule, Mahaado was inclined to obey out of loyalty and respect. Malik considered both reasons for acquiescence self-destructive to the person displaying them. Loyalty to something fallible appeared an ultimate and crushing weakness. Of course, Malik didn't attempt to believe in anything or anyone, marking all compliments as ingratiating attempts to earn approval from high authority. It seemed the upper class, in some struggle to maintain order had constrained itself with rules and terms of displaying respect. That was how things were kept strong. Even Ryuuji had to establish protocols for the people he supplied with entertainments.

The fact that the pharaoh didn't look like a pharaoh, however, made the scene comic.

"Or at least, I'm not concerned right now," the pharaoh added in a tone of apology. Malik was willing to allow so much, since the pharaoh was only human (though some would argue so much). He had the right to try and annul the royal rudeness in his interruption.

"Yes, sir," Mahaado said, robotic. Malik chuckled at the still offended air. He couldn't help himself. It was funny to see the priest annoyed with the pharaoh and unable to do anything about it.

"What do you find so amusing, Neko?"

Malik decided since the pharaoh was asking him such a straightforward question, he'd answer in the same manner.

"You and him," Malik said plainly, looking the pharaoh in the face and smirking. In the back of his mind he wondered if it was really the smartest way to approach things.

There was a pause in which the pharaoh considered this and decided he had nothing to say. Malik saw he had a certain novelty over the two in his behavior. His natural tendency to present himself somewhat superior was an attitude your well-trained heir didn't often face in having his official position pressed into him. Those who had the audacity to talk back to the pharaoh or act without his consent were deemed oddities, or egocentric. Priest Seth, though respected by the court, was in an almost antagonistic position in comparison to the more loyal priests. Malik could nearly sympathize, except he hated the man and feared his power.

"You know," Malik said sensibly, "You two will only get along best of you stop worrying about rules and rank."

"And what is it you found funny?" the pharaoh asked contentiously. Malik grinned and was more than please to answer as controversially as possible.

"The fact you don't see each other as true equals," he said, laughing through the tail of the last word. He couldn't have offered a more terrible reason if he were trying to get himself killed. The pharaoh frowned at him. Mahaado remain expressionless, but not angrily.

"You are either very rash, or very ignorant of the person you are speaking to," the pharaoh admonished. Malik was finding it difficult to take him seriously. They'd pulled the boy out of the water, it was their own fault they had to suffer his company. Fortunately for the two, the boat was approaching the palace.

"I'm just stating the facts. It might take you two years to figure it all out by yourselves."

This wasn't meant to be a humble reply, and the pharaoh looked understandably angry. Grinning inanely, Malik dove off the edge of the boat before the pharaoh could retaliate. He didn't like getting wet again, but figured the only way to get out of his situation was to chance a swim. And oar bat him in the side of the head as he failed to dodge it, but besides that, he got away cleanly. He didn't dare come up for air until he found himself in a dense patch of reeds. Then, he shot up, gasping. Far enough away for comfort was the pharaoh's ship. Guards were roving around the edge waiting to spot the boy coming up. Malik grinned, and wondered if Thief Bakura felt the same sort of pride when he eluded authority successfully after smarting off enough to get himself killed.

Malik was almost ecstatic with his getaway. There was a slight throb where the oar had hit him, but other than that, he was unscathed. He was safe.

Malik progressed through the reeds slowly until he was out of sight of the palace and the docks. He headed for the terra firma of the east bank and happily stepped foot on dry land. He was tired and took one last look behind him in time to see a crocodile stalking the water not too far away in the reeds. Malik cringed deeply and shot away from the river and over a ridge of land, going far enough to be positive the reptile wouldn't follow. He looked ahead at the city which, though not very far, was of considerable walking distance away. He sighed wearily and began walking, glad at least that the warmest part of the day was over with.

As he walked, Malik grew to a level of fatigued depression in which the city looked forever away. In the torturous and lonely heat, he came to the idea he'd wasted too much time from his last days alive before Seth devised some way to be rid of him. Everything was fiery and bleak in the future. It was pointless to believe he had a chance, since he kept throwing himself into such damning situations. He knew the Mystic Tomato was laughing at him the entire time, he could feel it egging him on. The crocodile hadn't attacked because it knew Malik could destroy himself just fine.

He smirked. A dark-skinned woman looked across the road at him as she headed the opposite direction with laundry. She deducted from his expression the terms of insanity and quickened her pace.

########

**Endnote:** _That_ is much longer than I was anticipating. ::had wanted maybe five pages at max:: I think I overshot it just a tad….

I'm soooo sooory! ::latches on to Priest Seth:: I made you look so evil, didn't I? ::pulls Seth close and ignores the glares:: Also, I know it's absolutely terrible, but every time a write about the Sennen Rod, part of my perverted little mind grunts suggestively 'Ooooh, _really_?' ::pouts:: It is so annoying. 

Egyptians speaking Japanese and English! ::frowns as she digresses from what makes sense:: Anyways, I didn't make any absolutely direct references to Egyptian mythology in Mahaado's speech because frankly, I have no clue what he's talking about. I have no idea which dynasty Yami no Yuugi was a part of or what the religious practise of the time was. There's hardly any consistent context clues, so I just sort of threw together different periods of Egypt's religious beliefs and hoped everyone had no clue what I was talking about. Of course, knowing the fandom, some of you probably notice my tentative skirting about relative fact and every bending of the truth. I haven't done anything with Egyptian mythology since middle school, so forgive my inadequate recollection. I also very briefly skimmed the last manga volumes over spring break and therefore couldn't tell you anything about them with confidence. Does someone feel like explaining Takahashi's alternative usage of "ka" to me, the poor Ego-chan who flipped the pages in Mitsuwa (looking for Ryuuji, I confess) and understood very little without her crutch, the Japanese-English dictionary? Otherwise, I'll have to BS my way though chapter two if I get around to working on it, and my BSing spawns some pretty terrible plot transgressions.

--Ling no Yong--


End file.
